


All My Vows, Given

by tanktrilby



Category: Free!
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-14
Updated: 2014-09-14
Packaged: 2018-02-17 09:22:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2304686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tanktrilby/pseuds/tanktrilby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He locks his jaw. He sees Rin seeing him lock his jaw. He also recognizes: the electricity in the air, the quick-sharp upward tilt of Rin’s mouth. Even as he digs his heels in, Rin is gathering momentum. </p><p>“We could go back,” Rin says.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All My Vows, Given

-and here’s Rin, storming into the living room with his nose scrunched and shirt unbuttoned. “Seriously, Haru,” he’s saying, all aggrieved, mouth set in a pout. “Is it too much to ask that we get an apartment where the air conditioning actually fucking works?”

Haru says, defensive on instinct, “You’re the one who wanted a bath we could both fit in.”

Rin does that very Rin thing of twitching all over, like a cat. “Moron! There were plenty of places that had _basic living necessities,_ but you were going on and on about only taking baths freestyle-“

“I like this apartment,” Haru says, which makes Rin’s expression go soft and warm, which is the reason this is Haru’s tried-and-tested method of heading off _that_ particular tirade. It had the additional benefit of being completely true: they bought this apartment before their second Olympics, moving from the miserable hovel in the hairy underbelly of Tokyo they had lived in as students. At the time, a bathtub that could act as both a vessel for water and hallowed cuddling space seemed like a fortune fit for kings.

Now that Haru thinks about it (that Rin’s _made_ him think about it, goddamn he’s too old for this shit to still work) he grudgingly admits that his husband has a point. The building was already old when they moved in; they’ve been here nearing twenty years, and these rooms have grown old with them. It’s become _home,_ a place of security and warmth, of compromise between the whirlwind of Rin and the steadiness of Haru. And Haru’s never been much fond of change in the first place.

He locks his jaw. He sees Rin seeing him lock his jaw. He also recognizes: the electricity in the air, the quick-sharp upward tilt of Rin’s mouth. Even as he digs his heels in, Rin is gathering momentum.

“We could go back,” Rin says, and only for a second or so is Haru confused. Then he _gets it,_ gets the incomprehensible simplicity of what Rin is suggesting, even before he elaborates, “Back home, I mean.”

The studied casual way he says it says that this isn’t as spontaneous as Rin is making it seem; he’s thought about it, the sneaky bastard, saving it up for the moment of truth to pull the rug straight from under Haru’s feet.

And Haru _is_ blindsided. He’s never considered- going back. Just like that. Back to Iwatobi where _everything_ started, swimming, the blue undeniable presence of the ocean, the friendships that held like iron, withstanding and withstanding. _Rin and Haru,_ which is a fact in and of itself.

“Listen, it makes sense,” Rin says, talking very fast and persuasive, which is a habit he picked up in Tokyo. Haru drifts his gaze back, not that he’s ever not looking; Rin’s open shirt affords a view of smooth, milk-pale collarbone, a patch of skin Haru has memorized the taste of. As if to add to the A/C argument, a bead of sweat rolls down the hollow between neck and T-shirt, and Haru licks his lips jealously. 

“-and you could just do your indolent writer thing around the house while I’m breaking my back educating young minds and shit,” Rin is saying. Haru watches the way his mouth moves as he talks. “Nagisa says the swim club could do with some help, so maybe you could get off your ass every now and then and actually do something and- Haru?”

Haru meets his eyes. “Sex?”

“Of course not- I- _now?”_ Rin splutters. Haru ignores his flailing and steps forward, angles in for a kiss; Rin’s elbow catches him right in the stomach. “Absolutely fucking not,” Rin continues prissily, watching Haru choke. There’s a sneaky little smile dancing at the corners of his mouth. “You’re nearly fifty, old man, get a grip.”

He sighs when Haru finally manages to kiss him. “I wish we weren’t too busy being confused and misunderstood when we were teenagers. If we’d started banging, like, when we were both seventeen, you won’t be a horny mess all the fucking time now.”

Haru threads a hand through his hair; silvery-white marching in through the ranks of red now, until one day Rin will have ridiculous snow-white anime hair and still look heart-stoppingly beautiful in his seventies.

Rin’s lips fit against his, warm, a little chapped, a searing kick somewhere inside Haru’s stomach as Rin holds his face in his hands and gets into it, into kissing Haru with all that fierce bright focus.

“Bedroom,” Haru grunts, being the practical one and also _so fucking turned on._ His jeans were tight, so tight, and Rin’s hand drifting warm and sure over his crotch was _not helping._

Rin pulls back, gives him an impish grin. “Tell you what.”

Haru’s hands flex on Rin’s arms. “What,” he grumbles.

“We’ll have sex if we move back home,” Rin says, laughing at the expression on Haru’s face.

Haru narrows his eyes at him. Rin’s got him- had him, since he said the words _back_ and _home_ with that sweet quiet hope in his eyes, said it with the promise in his voice, blue skies and blue seas and Rin.

Rin knows how Haru misses Iwatobi. 

But still. Haru’s no pushover, and he thinks, stubbornly, _we’re happy here._ Change and Nanase Haruka generally don’t get on. It’s the principle of the thing.

“Home is where Rin is,” Haru says, cleverly, he thinks.

Rin looks entirely unimpressed. “Pacific Ocean.”

Haru pouts, earns a laugh and a kiss, slower and sweeter than the one before. “Deal.”

*

That time when:

-all of Haru’s love was crashing in on itself, torn and bruised and bloody

-and Rin was a storm, heartless and hopeless and endlessly cruel as he said, _I don’t need you_ and _I’ll_ _never swim with you again._

This was the history that came before the history; the story that, eclipsed by the golden sheen of the Olympic medals and the well-documented outline of the two Japanese prodigies from the same small fishing village, never gets told. It’s not important to anyone but the select few who witnessed it: the small close-knit group of friends who saw one boy’s heartbreak bleed on to the other.

Before the heats in Bali, where Matsuoka Rin would have broken a world record if Nanase Haruka hadn’t broken it first.

Before the media coverage and public interest and endless fan mail.

Before, even, the ever-blue stretch of months when Haruka swam his best for his friends and Rin, Rin was Samezuka’s quicksilver darling, stroke clean and swift and sure. 

Before glory and peace and freedom, there was Nanase Haruka and Matsuoka Rin fighting under a cherry blossom tree, raw and desperately miserable. There was Haru saying, _swim with us_ and meaning, _let me show you how much I care_ and Rin’s tears splashing hot and wet on his face and the ache of old forgotten wounds beginning to heal.

(Rin never said, _I shouldn’t have left._ In turn, Haru has never told him, _It’s fine either way. I waited for you.)_

*

Haru still has the deed of the house left to him by his grandmother, but they can’t just move back in, they’re told. Nagisa is giggly and unapologetic on the phone: “There are _systems_ in place for this kind of thing, Haru-chan!” and he half-sighs and goes to have a bath, leaving Rin to deal with it.

 Later, Rin explains in that abstract, offhand way he has when he’s thinking about something: “Oh, we need to give the couple who rented the place at least a months’ notice. And, you know, we sold most of the furniture, so we’ll have to buy all the chairs and shit from scratch.” He’s looking a little harrowed just thinking about it; Haru goes to kiss that entirely beloved crease between his eyebrows when Rin adds, “Sousuke promised to help out with the delivery, so that’s one thing we don’t have to stress out about.”

Haru draws back. “Sousuke,” he says tonelessly.

“Hm? Yeah, Sousuke. His place isn’t that far from ours, so he said he’d let the movers in and keep an eye on the whole thing.”

Haru tries a different tack. “Makoto could do that.”

Rin looks up, a flash of cherry-red. “Haru, have you lost it completely? We can’t tell Makoto, because Makoto’s the one who suggested it to Sousuke. Makoto is basically handling everything out there single-handedly, tenants, rent, repairs, you name it.”

Haru considers this. Then, efficiently, he buries himself into a sulk. “Why.”

Rin is looking at him weird, unfairly, Haru thinks, because Rin’s the one being illogical. What does Sousuke -Sousuke, who always somehow manages to get Rin shirtless within ten minutes of meeting, and then strips down himself- have to do with any of it?

“Haru,” Rin says, incredulously. “Haru, do you seriously still have that thing against Sousuke?”

Haru looks away sharply from his half-amused eyes.

“Haru, he’s my _best friend._ He was my swim coach for _four years._ How have you not gotten over this?”

Haru says, only a little untruthfully, “I have.”

He can feel Rin’s glance on him, assessing, tentative. Haru’s shoulders hunch; he thinks of Sousuke shouting at him, voice broken, _you’re the one who’s important to Rin!_ He had blue eyes too.

“Sousuke’s important to me,” Rin mumbles, shrinking into himself. Haru’s eyes widen. “You- you’ve always had Makoto, but I’ve never got used to having someone watch my back.”

Wordlessly, Haru goes over. Wraps his arms around his lover, fits his chin on his shoulder. “I know,” he says. “I’m sorry.”

Rin manages a shaky smile.

*

_-of course he knew it was ridiculous. He was seventeen and had a pair of working eyes; he could see what was happening to him just fine, without needing anyone -not Makoto, not Nagisa, not Rei, and certainly not fucking Rin- to point it out, jabbing needles in what couldn’t be cured. Of course he knew it was his own longing for freedom holding him back, springing up like a wall every time he tried moving forward. His need to stay true to himself was draining him of everything that drove him, and he felt slow-witted and useless all the time, so fucking frustrated with himself it felt like he had already drowned._

_Acute claustrophobia; yelling at Rin, yelling at Makoto as his world shrunk and twisted but refused to stay the same. Hands on Makoto’s shoulders, rougher than he’s ever been, and to_ Makoto, _what was he_ doing _, pushing him back back back until it felt like there was enough space to breathe. The way words came out, pouring like syrup, so easy to say them; move forward. Find a dream. Grow._

 _The heat of his and Rin’s first kiss, in the middle of an argument, Rin’s lips pressing hot and angry against his like he’d been waiting for years for Haru to_ get _it. Rin peppering his temples with kisses as Haru whispered,_ I don’t know how.

_Australia wasn’t what helped his head eventually go quiet and weightless, soaring with realization, but it wasn’t Rin’s presence, either. It felt like an inevitable crescendo, and he felt the doubt and fear -his, his friends’- lift off his shoulders as the world spread out under his feet. The cacophony in his head had died, he knew the path he would take, and it wasn’t much different from the one everyone had suggested but it was hard to feel resentful just because only he had been slow at catching on. Rin had nudged Haru’s shoulder with his and flicked him a little grin. “Get it now?” he’d asked, and Haru had rolled his eyes and pushed him into the pool._

_Haru and Rin in Australia: holding hands and watching the stars, their shadows stretching out long and regretful behind them. The same old song, turned inside-out:_ swim with me, Rin. _And they do, they do._

(He loves Rin for not saying: _I dream big enough for both of us,_ even though he does. Though he once did say, choked and shaky after victory, _you_ make _me dream, Haru.)_

*

Somewhere in Australia, sad and lost, is the remnant of Haru’s wall: a seventeen year old boy with flat blue eyes watching the world like a starved animal.

Maybe he’ll meet the ghost of the boy Rin nearly became, the one who burnt bridges and vowed to never stay still long enough to care.

Haru thinks they’ll get along: the Rin who says goodbye and the Haru who hates to change. Maybe together they’ll learn to relish the moment, the feel of the water, and still count endless stars. Haru wishes them all the luck that he and his Rin missed out on.

Here: in Iwatobi, where everything started. Now: Rin, standing framed by sunset, red hair afire and the streaks of white more brilliant than ever. For a moment, Haru is blinded; red-headed shark-boy and caustic silver-haired swim coach become one, burning and glorious and _his._  

Rin shoots him an inquisitive look, and Haru shakes his head. He takes Rin’s hand, their rings catching a streak of sunlight as they clink softly together.

“Wanna go see Makoto?” Rin mumbles into his shoulder. “Could surprise him.”

Haru thinks about that. “Yeah,” he says. “Later.”

Together, they walk back to the house.

**Author's Note:**

> title comes from My Beloved is Mine by Francis Quarles. Specifically: 
> 
>  
> 
> _He gives me wealth; I give him all my vows;_  
>  _I give him songs; he gives me length of dayes;_  
>  _With wreaths of grace he crowns my conqu’ring brows,_  
>  _And I his temples with a crown of Praise,_  
>  _Which he accepts as an everlasting signe,_  
>  _That I my best-beloved’s am; that he is mine._


End file.
